


Nightingale's Eyes

by DanElliot



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Alternative Lifestyles, Alternative Lore, Alternative Perspective, Alternative Plans, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Consensual Underage Sex, Evil Plans, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, M/M, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Multi, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Robbery, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-10 05:46:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4379546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanElliot/pseuds/DanElliot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nightingale's eyes, what secret lies in their worth? What will they find left behind?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Death. That was the only thing Evaine could think about when crossing those dirty, disgusting corridors and the smell seemed to get worse each step she took further into the dungeon. Sometimes she had wondered how many had died there, pleading for water and food, completely forgotten by their captors after offering all information about Demacia they had, really believing that could save them from their fate. That was a horrid, pretty picture and she enjoyed thinking about those Demacian scum withering to death, but today she had no time to stop and laugh at the prisioners crying for mercy.

She finally reached the end of the corridor, eyes focused on the metal door of the cell for a long moment. LeBlanc knew how was behind that door, waiting for her. She could feel the waves of his magic floating around, making her remember why he had been holding that title for a long time now. She was no less powerful than him, but Swain was no man to toy with, not anymore. For long days she tried to understand what the mage was planning, she tried to glimpse at least a small part of it, only to see her efforts going wasted.

A robust voice coming from the cell brought Evaine back to reality and she sighed before pushing the door open. There was no surprise in seeing Swain there, his face calm as always but she could swear she had seen a hint of happiness behind his emotionless eyes for a mere second. The Matron of the Black Rose stepped into the room, approaching her old friend slowly and just in that moment she noticed who else was there, and everything seemed to fall over her at once.

“Are you _insane_ , Jericho?”

“A calculated decision…” LeBlanc laughed, a chuckle deprived of any humor, and Beatrice cawed from her spot over Swain’s shoulder, as if scolding her for such manners. “You’ve come here for a reason, Evaine.”

“You can be sure I wasn’t expecting to see the Prince of Demacia himself, my dear. You’re going to start a war!”

“Not if you care to listen to me.”

A soft moan of pain echoed from another part of the cell and her eyes finally noticed Jarvan IV wasn’t their only “guest”. A boy, maybe fourteen or even younger, had been tied on a chair, blood running down his bare chest, escaping from the countless cuts in his pale skin. His blonde hair was a mess, and even so he seemed not to belong to Demacia. His features, even if bloody and broken, were delicate and beautiful behind all the damage. After a few seconds he seemed to notice her intense gaze and lifted his head slowly. His eyes were blue, filled with fear and despair. For a moment he tried to say something, maybe ask for help as the prisioners usually did but his voice died on his throat and he gave up, head lowered in pure defeat once more.

“Do not worry about the child. He’s proven himself inconveniently useless.” Swain’s voice forced Evaine to look at him again. “His intelligence is beyond any other I’ve ever seen before, though.”

“I’m sure you didn’t bring me here to see your beautiful prizes, Jericho.” She stepped slowly toward the boy, curiosity moving her before she could stop herself. Her fingers played with his dirty hair and she thought the poor thing let an almost happy sigh escape. “And you didn’t keep this one alive for the sake of your good heart. What are you really planning?”

“As I said, he’s intelligent and well skilled in magic. He’s yours to do whatever you desire. He’s not completely broken, I can assure you.” Swain turned to the table behind him, searching through some papers almost randomly. “I need your help, Evaine. If we really succeed… We’ll have the entire Demacia in our hands.”

“I’m listening.”

And as Swain’s words filled her ears, she had no more doubts. The Grand General had gone completely mad, and there was nothing she could do but help him. She truly believed things couldn’t get worse. Their meeting seemed to last for hours, but they had a plan. A terrible, stupid plan that she was sure would never work, but Swain was happy enough to leave the cell, followed by a pair of soldiers carrying the Mighty Prince of Demacia, leaving her alone with her newest prize. The boy had passed out in some moment, but he still lived. He seemed so weak and fragile Evaine really didn’t believe he’d last for more two hours, though.

Even so, she approached and slapped his cheek some times, trying not to be harsh. That poor thing had suffered enough, and she was glad they were alone. No one should ever see that side of her. It took her a few minutes and some vials of healing potions, but he finally opened his eyes, exhausted. When their gazes met, he seemed to remember where he really was and panic took over his doll-like features.

“P-please…”

“Shh, that’s alright.” Her hands rested on his shoulders. His whole body was quivering and she was surprised of how much she could pity someone. Sometimes it was hard to even remember she was still human and she was allowed to feel when no one else was around to take advantage of her weak points. In that moment she wasn’t LeBlanc. She was Evaine, and no one else. “My poor little pet, you must be exhausted.”

“What h-he said…What… what will you do to me?”

“For now, I’m going to take you home and take care of you. I can’t be seen with a pet in such a terrible condition.” His eyes widened in shock and for a second he tried to go even back into the chair, as if trying to escape through it but the ropes were too tight and he sobbed, soft tears of pain and fear running down his cheeks. “Oh dear, you don’t need to be afraid of me. I’m not the monster they paint me, althought I prefer to hold the title a little longer.”

She reached a small knife resting on the table among other torture instruments and started to cut the ropes, watching as his expressions shifted. Fear slowly disappeared from his teary eyes, replaced by curiosity and confusion. It was obvious he didn’t know if he should trust her or if she was just tricking him to hurt him later. He was innocent, and it made her smile for a second or two. The ropes finally fell on the floor and she dropped the knife.

“What’s your name, child?”

“E-Ezreal.”

“How old are you?”

“F-fourteen…” So she was right. He was just a child caught in the middle of all that chaos, and she shouldn’t be surprised. Swain had no limits when it was about Demacia or power, and she knew that very well. “I’m f-from Piltover… My parents, t-they...T-they’re dead…”

And at that point Ezreal started crying all of sudden, trembling badly, sobbing as the child he was, completely terrified about his fate. She couldn’t blame him. He had been beaten almost to death, watched his parents being killed. It was too much for someone so young and fragile. Her fingers stroke his cheek gently, and a soft gasp escaped her lips as he wrapped his arms around her waist, hidding his face on her belly to cry, blood and tears mixing on her robe but it didn’t matter. Evaine stood still, allowing herself to smile for a second, and after a few minutes he started to calm down.

“Can you walk?”

“I… I think so…”

She took a step back, forcing him to drop his arms. His face was still a mess but the tears had washed away some of the blood, and in that moment she noticed the marks on his cheek, and it only made him look even more beautiful in his pure innocence. In soft movements he stood up, pain crossing his features at every breath. It was obvious the healing vials didn’t help too much but at least he was awake and able to stand by himself. He was smaller than she had noticed, yet there was something about him that made the child quite special. When Evaine turned to leave that damned cell, a cold, weak hand grabbed hers and the enchanter looked back. The boy was facing the floor, shy.

“I..I don’t know h-how to.. call you…”

“Mistress is enough."

“Right... M-mistress?” She nodded when he looked up at her, and he continued. “Can I.. get my things back? At least my amulet… I-it’s important…”

“Of course, my darling. Go find it.”

“Thank you…”

The woman smiled once more, holding his fragile hand back for a second before allowing him to move away, searching for his things. Maybe she’d end up spoiling the boy with her excessive gentleness but there was no point in having a scared servant. He was young, he’d learn her ways sooner or later. She simply watched in silence as he walked around the dark place, finally finding a backpack - or what remained of it - under a table, but Evaine noticed his faint smile when he found a small amulet among the other ruined things. She didn’t recognize the marks, but the magic pouring from that was more than obvious.

“Where did you find it, child?”

Ezreal looked over his shoulder for a second before standing up and approaching her, fingers firmly wrapped around the amulet that now was shining under his touch. At least he was a tamed pet and it seemed she wouldn’t have problems. She just hoped his behavior wouldn’t change later. The boy shifted uncomfortably on his feet, maybe wondering if she’d try to take his precious token from him.

“Shurima…”

“May I take a look?” Evaine held out a hand, waiting for him to offer her the amulet but he didn’t move, his fingers gripping the amulet tightly. She almost laughed, but it’d be rude. “You don’t need to worry. I have no intentions in keeping it.”

He took a deep breath and nodded softly, dropping the amulet on her hands but she noticed how he was trembling, at the edge of tears. He was so adorable, indeed. Evaine turned the solar disc on her fingers sometimes, but it didn't react at her touch as it did before. The burning light had vanished, and now it was a simple piece of an old, forgotten civilization.

"Interesting. How does it work, exactly?"

"I use it to... channel my magic, to shape it the way I want."

So the boy had spoiled that with his own magic, turning it completely useless for others. Maybe Swain didn't even know what he had offered her. She smiled, returning the amulet to its rightful owner. As she thought, the object started shining in a pure blue light when Ezreal held it again, a relieved sigh escaping his hurt lips.

“Thank you, mistress.”

“Let’s go home. We have _so much_ to do.”


	2. Chapter 2

Talon took a deep breath before stepping closer to the door and knocking a few times, fingers pressing the letter tightly as if it could disappear at any moment, still trying to understand why he was there. He was smarter than that. He had been hiding for a long time now, but that damn letter seemed to destroy whatever plans he once had. For a second his fingers stumbled on the sigil and the assassin needed to take another deep breath or he was sure he’d simply turn and leave, even if it was more stupid than standing there. A click echoed softly and the door cracked as it was pushed back, but only a pale, bony hand came into view, reaching out for something. The assassin placed the letter on the thin fingers and quickly both disappeared behind the door that stayed opened, simply waiting for him to welcome himself and step in.

It was too late to give up now. Talon closed his eyes for a moment and then took a step further, then another and another until he was standing in the middle of a dark, huge hall. As he feared the door got locked on his back but he had no guts to turn and stare at whatever was behind him. He could feel its eyes on his neck, almost burning his skin. He decided to look around, even if there wasn’t light enough to see anything clearly. Expensive furnitures decorated the space, along with beautiful but terrible paintings that made his blood froze on his veins.

“Down the corridor. Up the stairs, last door at the right.”

The voice barely reached his ears, old and decrepit as the statue he was facing. Talon nodded, turning to face the corridor illuminated by a few candles. As he walked down the “path”, he noticed more doors and hidden passages that he had expected to see. That place was huge, bigger than he had imagined and anyone could get lost there easily. A shiver ran down his spine and the assassin forced the fear back. Too late to regret anything, he thought. If he’d die today, at least he should face it as a honorable man - as if there was something still honorable about him. The corridor ended in a dark staircase and he needed all his courage to climb the stairs, one step after another until another corridor welcomed him. His heart was beating fast against his chest by now.

There weren’t doors or decorations on the walls, but he could glimpse a weak light not so far away from the spot he was standing. It took him some moments but Talon finally started moving again, crimson eyes never leaving that weak daylight trying to fight its way through the dark. Finally a door came into view, that damn sigil craved into the wood. It was half open, letting the daylight escape, inviting him silently so he could leave the darkness at once. Maybe it was just a trick. Maybe he was just stepping into his own grave like a stupid ram. Scribbling noises echoed softly, then stopped for a second or two and then started again.

“Please, come in.”

The voice came so suddenly Talon needed a moment to comprehend it came from behind the door. He took a new deep breath and pushed the door open, stepping in and looking around so quickly his neck hurt. A surprised noise escaped his lips before he could hold it back. He had expected a dark room full of torture instruments, monsters, other assassins ready to strike him down, anything but… _that_.

He found himself in a clear office, the daylight showering it through the white curtains. It was completely different from the main hall or the corridors he had crossed. There weren’t any weird statues or terrible paintings, but bookshelves seemed to cover every inch of space at the walls. A desk placed near the big windows was covered by countless papers, books resting on the floor in small piles around the chair but what surprised him the most were all the bird cages. As the books, they seemed to be everywhere. Just a few weren’t empty, dark clothes covering the cage completely but he could hear the birds singing soflty behind it. The shock disappeared slowly and his eyes got locked on the figure sat behind the desk, face hidden under a hook just as Talon himself, but the assassin never had possessed such rich clothes like that one nor had a small body. Any soldier of Noxus would be able to break his spine as if it was nothing. His “host” lifted his face enough for him to glimpse a pale skin, rosy lips curled into a soft smirk before he turned his attention to the paper on his hands once more, pen running through the letter quickly.

So that one was _The Nightingale_. He felt a weird feeling bubbling on his stomach. Every person in Noxus had heard about him as much as they heard about LeBlanc and The Black Rose. As the order withered and disappeared with no trace left two years ago, the Nightingale rose quickly, taking over its place, commanding over the Matron’s broken throne, reigning over the underworld. No one knew how it started exactly, but he grew so powerful it was impossible to walk around the Capital without being noticed by him or his men. The Nightingale never hid his presence, he never tried to pretend he didn’t exist. His spies seemed to be at every street and alley of Noxus, collecting information about everything and everyone. His assassins provided quiet, precise results where diplomacy and blunt force failed. Rumors said even the Grand General feared him, and anyone caught working under the Nightingale’s sigil would be interrogated, tortured and executed as traitors. It never stopped the spymaster, and it was obvious how little he cared about Swain’s threats.

However, only a few were trusted to be where Talon was standing now without being killed before they could say something or spill secrets around. He’d end up dead one way or another, though. Surely Swain would find out about that and would hunt him down. The assassin shifted on his feet uncomfortably, trying to feel less scared and more confident than he really was in that moment. With a harsh sigh, the spymaster dropped the letter and motioned to the empty chair in front of the desk, allowing Talon to approach. The assassin licked his lips and moved slowly, eyes still focused on the other as he sat down. Silence filled the office for a long, disturbing second, and then the spymaster simply pushed the hook off of his head.

Talon gasped with the sudden movement, not sure if he could really believe his own eyes. For a long time the assassin had wondered the real face of the Nightingale, he had pictured the spymaster as a feared person like Swain, Marcus or even terrifying as Darius. The truth was something way worse, if that was possible. Behind the desk there was just a boy, no older than sixteen or seventeen. His features were delicate, almost fragile for someone of his age. His skin was pale, but Talon could see the little freckles that covered his nose, eyes of a pure icy blue that could match the ice of a lake in Freljord, golden hair falling over his forehead. After a second, the assassin understood. That fragile figure simply screamed he wasn’t from Noxus, that he belonged somewhere less cruel, less bloody, that he was far away from home, and that was just _wrong_.

“Is everything alright?”

The Nightingale’s voice echoed, filled with curiosity and some weird kind of worry, and the assassin decided to shake off every stupid thought running on his mind in that moment. He nodded softly, mimicking the younger, pushing his own hook back. It was a stupid thing to do, but it just seemed right. A smile danced on the boy’s lips, and Talon decided to trust that child for a little while, even if that was the dumbest idea he had ever had in his entire life.

“Thank you for coming today, Talon. I really appreciate it. Desperate times, as you may know, require desperate measures.” The boy spoke slowly, as if he needed to choose every word carefully before talking. “I know how difficult it can be for you.”

“I’ve been trying to stay away from this little war of yours. My loyalty belongs to the DuCouteau’s family. I’m here to ask you to leave me alone at once.”

“Do you really believe Swain will leave you alone once you step out of this house?” The spymaster sighed, running a gloved hand through his face. “To the Void with him, I’d be a happy man if he was my only problem. Listen, just do this little job for me and then I leave you alone.”

“And why should I trust you?”

“You shouldn’t. I’m a simply nightingale, after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SO sorry for this terrible chapter and for the delay. *cries*  
> Thank you all for your kudos, though! It means a lot to me! ♥

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I know the titles is from a Dragon Age song but it gave me so many pretty ideas and I couldn't resist. I hope you enjoy it and thank you for taking your time to read! It means a lot to me, sweet doves! Love you all, and please leave comments and critics if you want to! ^_^


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